


Fighting Words P2

by modernraceownsairpods



Series: Fighting Words [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Newsies - Freeform, jack is kinda a Big asshole in this oops, sprace, this is for you haley, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernraceownsairpods/pseuds/modernraceownsairpods
Summary: Spot and Jack are in a fight, and Racetrack Higgins is caught up right in the middle of it.(previously)“I changed my mind,” He said, picking up his flannel and tying it around his waist. “I’ll stay at Albert’s tonight.”“Racer, I—” Spot tried to say, but Race cut him off.“Go home.”





	Fighting Words P2

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been like three months, but heyyy guess who's finally finished with writing it! Enjoy. Also, if you're reading this, follow @king-of-brooklyn on tumblr, they were the one who finally pushed me to finish it :D also they're my favorite uwu

Race sat on the couch while Albert talked to the police, swiping through snapchat stories of the party he had missed. He stood up quickly as Albert came back in the house.

“Do you need help cleaning this place up?” 

Albert smiled, “Sure, but don’t you need to leave soon?” He stole a glance at his phone, “It’s almost one, Racer.”

“About that…” He trailed off, eyes downcast. “Could—could I just crash here for the night, d’you think?” He’d forgotten that Albert wasn’t aware of his and Spot’s more recent fight after he’d left. But Albert seemed to understand that  _ something _ must have happened and nodded, giving him an understanding smile. 

“Of course, stay as long as you like.” He sat down on the couch and motioned for Race to do the same. “On one condition—you have to talk to me about what’s going on. I can tell something else happened, something you haven’t told me yet.” 

Heaving a sigh, Race collapsed into the couch, almost landing in Albert’s lap. “Did you drink at all during the party?”

Albert scoffed, “Absolutely not, I never drink at my own parties.”

“Amazing, can we go somewhere to eat?” He asked, looking up at the red-haired boy. “I’m starving, and if I weren’t still a little drunk, I’d drive myself and get out of your hair.”

Albert just smiled and rolled his eyes, “Of course, dumbass. Go wait in the car, I’ll grab my keys.”

\---

Spot slammed the door to their apartment, swearing loudly, not caring what time it was. Slamming his keys down on to the counter, he let out a frustrated cry and threw himself down onto the couch, burying his face into a pillow. 

After a few moments, his roommate, Hotshot, poked his head out of the bedroom door, his hair mussed. “Sean?” He asked, tiredly. “What the hell man, do you know what time it is?” 

Spot just lifted his head and gave him a “fuck you,” in response. Hotshot furrowed his brows and came out into the living room. “Dude, what happened? You’re not usually  _ this  _ pissy.” He sat down next to the shorter boy. “Talk to me.”

Spot just huffed, sitting up on the couch. “I fucked everything up again.” He muttered, looking away from Hotshot, trying not to cry.

Hotshot looked down at him. “What did you do this time?”

“No, I’m serious, you don’t get it.” Spot said bitterly, looking up at him. “I ruined things. I fucked it up. Race—I fucking--” Spot couldn’t seem to find the words, but this had happened before, and Hotshot knew what to do.

“Alright, dude, you don’t have to talk. Just nod or shake your head. Did you and Racer get in a fight?” 

Spot nodded into the couch. 

“Do you blame yourself for said fight?”

Spot took a breath, thinking back on the night. “We had two fights.”

Hotshot nodded, a hand on Spot’s back. “Can you tell me what they were about?”

Spot cracked his knuckles, a bad habit he’d gotten into. “Last week, Jack told me he wanted to talk to me. We got lunch, and he told me…” He tried to steady his breathing. “He told me he didn’t approve of Race’s and my relationship. Said I wasn’t ‘good’ for him. As if he fucking even  _ knew _ what we were like, or  _ knew  _ Race enough to fucking tell.” He bit out, feeling himself getting angrier. He wished Race were here.  _ He  _ was good at calming him down. He continued. “Jack doesn’t even  _ know  _ me that well. How dare he try to tell me how to live my life, or what to do in  _ my _ relationships, or whether or not I should break up with my fucking boyfriend just because  _ he _ doesn’t approve of what little he sees.” 

Hotshot let him vent, looking on, feeling a little twinge of anger in his heart. “I think you guys are great together,” He stated simply.  _ I’ve never liked Jack. He’s always seemed a little too pompous for my taste. This really seals the deal _ . Hotshot thought. He wanted to voice those thoughts, but didn’t want to antagonize Spot further. “From what I’ve seen, you guys are in a good relationship.”

“I’m not even sure if we’re  _ in _ a relationship anymore!” Spot cried out, a single tear slipped out before he could stop it, though he wiped it quickly away. “Jack came to the party today. We were on edge, things got hostile, and Race bailed. I could tell he was upset, but--I couldn’t tell him what the fight was about. I’m scared he’s going to… to agree with Jack. I don’t want Jack to talk to him because I’m terrified he’s going to try to convince him to break up with me…”  _ Though I may have done a good job of that on my own… _

Spot told him the rest of the story, how he’d found Race outside and tried to talk to him, how Race had blown up at him, comparing Jack and Spot to his parents--Spot had let a few more tears fall when that came up--and how finally, he’d told him to go home.

Hotshot thought a moment. “Y’know, Spotty. I know you’re upset about this. And I think you need to talk to Race. I say, text him in the morning, get lunch, and see if you two can’t work it out. I know you love him Sean, and I think he loves you too. There’s bound to be fights along the way, but man, fights are in every relationship.”

Spot was silent, but he knew Hotshot’s words rang true. “You’re right.” He finally said, taking a deep breath.

“Listen. I can tell you’re mega-stressed about this right now. Whaddya say we get an early breakfast?” Hotshot asked, checking his watch. It was almost one. “Denny’s sound good to you?”

\---

A half an hour later, Race and Albert were sitting in Albert’s car, in the parking lot of a Denny’s. “Do you think God created Denny’s or did it come when sin entered the world?” Race asked, eyeing the unblinking fluorescent sign.

“Race, you’re not even Christian.” 

“Fuck off, Dasilva,”

They walked up to the entrance and were soon sitting down at one of the many booths. It was empty, not surprisingly, as it was 1:30 in the morning, save for a couple at the far end of the restaurant. The waiter came over, looking tired and overworked. He had a 20 oz. Redbull in one hand and menus in the other. “Welcome to Denny’s. What can I start you guys off with?”

The duo ordered, Race getting pancakes with bacon, and Albert getting an omelette with cheese. Race saw and crinkled his nose. “What the fuck, man. I can’t believe we come all the way to Denny’s, famous for their pancakes, and you order an omelette.” Albert rolled his eyes, blowing his straw wrapper at him in response.

They talked about life, and every time Spot was mentioned, Race would change the subject. Now that the fervor of the argument had worn off, Race felt kind of bad. He wanted to call Spot, but… he couldn’t. Not after telling him off so harshly.

“You need to call him, Tonio.” 

“What?” Race was thrown out of his thoughts by Albert’s voice, gentle but firm.

“I know what you’re thinking right now, dude.  _ Call him _ .” 

Race stammered. “I can’t. I can’t, not after what happened, I--he might not even be awake right now.”

“So? Call him anyway. If he’s awake, maybe he’ll answer. If not, he’ll wake up in the morning and see your call. You need to talk to him.”

Race knew he couldn’t argue, pulling out his phone in defeat. He dialled Spot’s number, with shaking fingers and nervous thoughts, and pressed ‘call’. 

A few moments later, the jarring sound of a ringtone sounded out across the restaurant, coming from the two at the table in the far back corner. Race furrowed his brow. “I can’t concentrate with that noise, Al, I’m gonna go outside.” Albert nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. Race went out the main doors, standing there, waiting, hoping, praying that Spot would pick up.

At the table in the far back corner, out of view from Race and Albert, Spot fumbled pulling his phone out, trying to silence the ringer. His eyes landed on the caller ID and his heart skipped six beats.. “It’s Race, Hotshot,  _ it’s Race _ .” He panicked; the phone continued to ring.

“Answer it,  _ dipshit _ ,” Hotshot said, looking at him.

“I  _ can’t _ !” Spot whispered frantically. Hotshot just rolled his eyes and snagged Spot’s phone, pressing ‘accept’ and shoving it to Spot’s ear himself. “...Hello?” Spot asked, in a strangled voice. 

“Hey, Spot… it’s Race. ...I need to talk to you.”

Spot’s throat seized up.  _ This is it. This is where he breaks up with me. Over the phone, too.  _ He forced his voice to stay steady. “Okay, one second.” He looked at Hotshot, who shooed him away with his hand. “I’m going to go outside.” He went out the side door, standing on the side of the Denny’s.

“Racer, before you say anything. I need to apologize to you.” He started, but Race cut him off. 

“Wait. I need to speak first.” 

Spot felt like he might pass out.  _ He’s going to break up with me without even giving me a chance to explain myself? _

“I need to apologize.” Race said, fiddling with his sleeve. He hated talking on the phone. He wished Spot were just  _ here _ , so they could see each other, and speak to each other without feeling the need to fill the absent void left by speaking on the telephone. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I’m sorry for comparing you to my parents.” Race felt tears prick at his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong…”

Spot instantly sobered, straightening from his leaning position against the wall. “No. Antonio, I  _ did _ do something wrong. I did a lot of things wrong. Don’t say that. I’m the one who needs to apologize to  _ you _ . I shouldn’t have let my fight with Jack interfere with our relationship. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you didn’t deserve a single bit of that. And I shouldn’t have stopped you from going to Jack when I refused to tell you what was wrong, that was… shitty of me, as well.” He bit his lip, taking a quick breath. “Jack and I… we are arguing about… something--and I--” It was happening again. The words weren’t coming out like he wanted them to, he couldn’t find the right way to say it. He finally whispered it out, his biggest insecurity. “Am I good for you, Tony?”

There was silence on the other end, too long, too quiet. Spot could practically hear his own heart breaking.

“....Sean…” Race said quietly. “I’m my best self whenever you’re with me. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

Spot was tired of holding back tears, so he let them flow, trying to stifle a sob. “Tony, I--love you.”

Race let the dam break when he heard Spot begin to cry over the phone, his own eyes flooding with tears. “Babe… did you really doubt that?”

“I--I don’t know… That’s what the fight was about.” Spot confessed, trying to dry his tears. “He--he told me he didn’t think I was good for you… and--and it just stuck in my mind, like a fucking plague. Everything I did, I kept second-guessing myself, I kept hearing his voice in my head…”

Race’s fists clenched. “W-why would he say that?”

“I don’t know…” Spot said quietly. “I don’t even talk to Jack that much…” Another thought occurred to him, suddenly. “Wait, so, Race, you’re not… breaking up with me?” 

Race let out a shocked laugh. “Uhm… I wasn’t planning on it… did you think I was?”

Spot thought he was going to cry. He let out a loud whoop that echoed across the parking lot. “I--you have no idea how scared I was to answer this phone call, babe, I thought… you were going to break up with me…”

Race furrowed his brows.  _ Is there some kinda echo??? _ “Spot…” He said, slowly. “Where are you…?”

“In the side door of a Denny’s. Hotshot insisted Denny’s would make me feel better.” Spot said, slowly. “Why?”

“Which Denny’s?” Race asked, his voice slow.

Spot looked around. “The one across the street from the antiques shop…  _ why _ ?”

Race hung up the phone, sprinting down the walkway and dashing around the side of the Denny’s. His heart  _ soared _ as he spotted Spot, whose back was to him. He ran to him, throwing his arms around the other boy’s neck, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Spot almost  _ screamed _ , feeling a pair of arms wrap around him. But then he felt the kiss on his cheek, and saw the flannel around the arms, and just  _ knew. _ “Tony…!?” 

“Yes, babe.” Race whispered, hugging him tightly. “It’s me.”

 

The two boys walked back into the diner, hand in hand. Together.


End file.
